


Put on a Show

by Chierei



Series: The Summer of Smut [15]
Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Barebacking, Dirty Talk, Double Penetration, Gangbang, Group Sex, M/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Sex Tapes, Spitroasting, Unsafe Sex, um, yeah - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-19
Updated: 2020-07-19
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:47:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25385521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chierei/pseuds/Chierei
Summary: Ed stumbles across some...compromising footage of Oswald.
Relationships: Oswald Cobblepot/Edward Nygma, Oswald Cobblepot/Other(s)
Series: The Summer of Smut [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1787152
Comments: 22
Kudos: 94





	Put on a Show

**Author's Note:**

> My second piece made for our Summer of Smut event! The theme was _group sex_. This is...very filthy. The filthiest thing I have posted. Post 5x11-era.

Ed grumbled as he dug through the boxes, reading label after label. He had thought his haul might have been more impressive—there had been so much security, and he had needed quite the spectacular distraction to get to it. But all he was left with was boxes and boxes of aging VHS tapes.

Ed huffed, discarding another tape into a pile deemed as trash. He had been watching them one at a time, skimming through as fast as he could in case there was anything of interest. Their labeling system was haphazard with over a third not having any label whatsoever. He had been trying to create a mental filing system, but everytime he thought he had the system down, a new tape would come up that would throw it all to pieces. He wanted to just toss the entire pile in the trash except he had—almost unfortunately—run into two or three useful gems so far.

The next tape he grabbed was another with a nonsensical label: FA-AH-O101312. He turned it over in his hands, noting the age and the slight staining on the label before slipping it into the lplayer to start.

He drummed his fingers impatiently on the table as he waited, fast-forwarding through the static until a grainy image cut into the screen. It was clearly amateur filming based on the tilted of the camera and the constant swaying as it tried to orient itself. The sound was muffled, practically incomprehensible with a din of voices.

Ed was about to throw the tape into the junk pile when the camera finally steadied and gave him a good view of the wallpaper—white damask patterns against a lavender-gray background. He spied the antique finished sconces on the wall and places the age of the building to likely be built in the 1930s, which did little to narrow a location within Gotham.

If this was even in Gotham.

Finally, someone spoke, male and off-screen. “You got it working?” It was deep, with a gruffness that implied older rather than younger and an accent that was purely Gothamite.

The camera shook, the cameraman clearly nodding.

“Fuck yeah,” the same male voice said. “Come on, better hurry before we miss the start.”

The image shook again, becoming an incomprehensible blur as the cameraman ran. The motion of the camera as they moved was nauseating, nothing but glimpses of carpet and walls and strangers.

Ed tapped his fingers against the table in annoyance, fast-forwarding another minute until they apparently arrived at their intended destination. A door came into view—white with a silver plaque that read _1104_ in an elegant script. A hotel then, nothing that he hadn’t already deduced, though it did rule out any of the hotels with a ten floors or less.

The scene that came into view when the door swung open was—

Ed paused the footage, narrowing his eyes to get a better look. Was it—it couldn’t be—but no, it was definitely Oswald.

He looked younger—perhaps early twenties—but his age was almost impossible to guess by looks alone. But there was something about the eyes that made him appear more youthful, and it was beyond his makeup. Oswald had always had a deft hand with his makeup, always putting on just enough for each occasion and as elaborate or simple as he desired. But this was Oswald with deeply lined eyes, making his eyes pop even in the poor footage, and highlighting his sharp slant of his cheekbones. His lips were painted with a soft pink lipstick, shiny with gloss, and utterly inviting. 

And not to mention his attire. It was something that his Oswald would have never worn. He was wearing a skin-tight black shirt that was clearly three sizes too small, riding up to above his belly button. His skirt—which could only generously be called such and not a dishtowel—barely covered the essentials, and Ed’s gaze followed the line of his legs down to the pair of sky-high black heels with cuffs around his ankles.

But it was the collar that made Ed almost bite through his tongue—the thick pieces of leather buckled around Oswald’s slim neck.

With a trembling finger, he pressed play.

Oswald was leaning back on the edge of the hotel bed, legs crossed. Ed could see a multitude of strangers in the room—all male—and Oswald was pressed against one of them, giggling. Two of the men were on each side of him—both older than Oswald and average looking. One of them had his hand on Oswald’s knee, and it was slowly creeping up his thigh, while the other was running his fingers down Oswald’s bare arm. There was a distinct charge in the air that made a not-entirely-unpleasant feeling settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Is that everyone?” Oswald asked. His voice was clear and confident, no different than if he was looking at his men from the head of a table. The question must have been directed to someone off-screen because he seemed to get an assent. “Good.” He looked around him, a teasing and sensual smile playing at his lips as he took in the crowd. “Well, you boys know the rules. Who wants to go first?”

Oswald had barely finished his sentence before the man on his left who had been steadily making his hand up Oswald’s skirt—Ed mentally dubs him Watchface due to the frankly gaudy gold watch on his left hand—kissed him. Oswald opened his mouth, and Ed could see the flash of tongue even as Oswald groped the stranger through his pants.

Ed slammed down on the pause button. He could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest, and his fingers suddenly felt unwieldy and sweaty. This was—

Ed swallowed. He had always known that Oswald was more...sexually experienced than himself. He had never hidden it, and Ed had benefited from Oswald’s knowledge enough that he was usually able to tamp down on the jealousy that already threatened to rear its ugly head. But this was something else. This was something that he would have never imagined.

Ed knew what he should do. He should throw the tape out; it was far too prime of blackmail material that could have a negative effect on Oswald’s base of power. He should throw it out and never tell Oswald.

He rubbed his eyes, pressing the back of his hand to them as he exhaled. He couldn’t help but give a furtive glance around the room despite knowing it was empty. He should destroy it.

 _Should_.

Instead, he reached over to the player and, with a shaking finger, pressed play.

He didn’t quite know where to look as the scene continued to roll and still didn’t know whether he should be jealous or aroused. The twitch of his cock in his pants gave him the answer, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

Oswald pulled away from the kiss to drop to his knees, undoing Watchface’s pants to pull out a lean cock of average size. Oswald wasted no time bringing it to his mouth, sucking it down almost obscenely fast until he had his nose pressed against the thatch of brown curls. The pleased noise he made broke whatever spell had overtaken the audience. Around him, various others started undressing—some just enough to pull out their own half-hard cocks and others disrobing completely. A few just seemed content to watch, palming themselves through their pants languidly.

Another man—this one shirtless with tanned skin—dropped to his knees next to Oswald to squeeze at his ass. The skirt was pushed up to reveal the thin black thong that he had underneath, and his hand slipped to the front to fondle Oswald’s cock.

Another cock—thicker this time and attached to a man with twin daggers tattooed on his hip bone—slapped Oswald in the face.

Ed had one moment to be infuriated before arousal overtook him. He bit his bottom lip, pressing his palm down on the front of his pants. He shouldn’t be watching this—this was clearly something that Oswald had chosen not to share with Ed, and Ed didn’t know if he wanted to know, but he couldn’t look away. Not with Oswald’s face looking so coy and teasing as he teased various men, moving his mouth to lick at one cock after another. The men pawed at him almost desperately, begging for his attention, for his hands and mouths. There was a bubble of pride in Ed—knowing that he was the one who got to keep Oswald—that Oswald was his prize and his alone now.

His attention turned back to the screen. The camera was a little shaky but gave him a decent enough view of Oswald on his knees, surrounded by men of all ages and shapes, and all eyes were on him. Oswald had his nose pressed into the groin of one man, an obscene sound of slurping as he bobbed his head as he used each hand to grope at the others around him.

Someone pulled out a knife, and Ed’s heart jumped out just long enough to worry before they sliced away what little clothes Oswald had on. The torn bits of black fell away to reveal more pale skin and the curve of his ass. Someone used the opportunity to tweak one of Oswald’s nipples, and Oswald simply moaned around a mouthful of cock in response.

The minutes pass with nothing more than the image of Oswald kneeling in a circle of men, alternatively pumping at newly offered cocks while he messily wrapped his tongue and lips around someone new. The audio is nothing but groans with the occasional curse. It would have been almost monotonous—the type of pornography that Ed would have normally brushed past—but this was Oswald.

Oswald, who was acting like some sort of well-paid porn star, and Ed couldn’t resist anything when Oswald was involved.

The angle finally shifted, the cameraman somehow battling his way to a front-row, and there Oswald was, taking another long cock into his mouth as he looked straight up at the camera. It wasn’t an unfamiliar image, and Ed tried to ignore the way his cock pulsed. His mouth was stretched wide, bright gray eyes looking up, and the camera picked up the sounds of his slurping and the heavy breathing of the lucky bastard Oswald had his mouth around.

“Fuck,” the cameraman said, and the camera image tremored as the man tried to keep it steady.

Ed couldn’t blame him. He doubted he could have a steady hand while Oswald sucked his cock like that.

The cameraman set his hand on Oswald’s head—showing his light brown skin with a heavy gold ring on his pointer finger—and then he pushed his cock deeper into Oswald’s throat. “Fuck yeah,” he said, distinctly out of breath despite his bravado, “take it, slut.”

Oswald gagged, but Ed could hear the pleased moan around it.

The cameraman fucked his mouth in long, slow motions, his hands wrapped tight around Oswald’s hair as he forced his head up and down on his cock. Ed could see the drool coming out from the corners of Oswald’s mouth, but it just made him look sexier, eyes half-glazed and eyeliner smudged. “Fuck yeah, baby,” someone growled off-screen. “You like that cock?”

Oswald nodded as best he could.

The cameraman spoke again. “You want me to come on you, baby? Want me to come on that pretty face?”

Oswald’s eyes practically rolled back in pleasure, and he made a noise deep in the back of his throat in assent.

The cameraman handed off the camera to someone next to him, and there was another dizzying moment where everything was moving in a blur before it righted itself. The image settled to show Oswald with two hands pressed into his hair as his mouth was fucked with fast, vicious strokes. Ed could hear the sounds of gagging, and he would have been concerned if he didn’t know how much Oswald could take and how much he loved it.

He was finally dragged off, and Oswald took a big gulp of breath, wiping his mouth and eyes with the back of his hand. He barely had a moment of respite before the original cameraman came with a grunt. Oswald closed his eyes, swallowing what little landed in his mouth, before looking back up at the camera with cum sticking to his lashes.

Ed gave in to the urge. The sight of Oswald looking debauched and so _satisfied_ finally unwound the last of his self-control. He undid his own zipper, slipping his hard cock out. He hissed at the feeling of cold air but stroked it in long, slow strokes as his eyes stayed trained on the screen.

“Next?” Oswald said, voice rough but no less eager than when he had started.

Ed muffled his own moan, pressing his sleeve to his mouth as one hand squeezed the base of his cock to keep from coming at the words. He couldn’t look away, watching as Oswald looked right at _him_ and licked his lips, and it was so easy to imagine Oswald on his knees right in front of him—even with the makeup and the strangers and _fuck_.

Someone must have gotten tired, because another man stepped into frame, broad shoulders with bulging muscles with a cock to match. Even Ed blanched a little at the sight of it—it was thick, pornstar thick, and Oswald’s fingers didn’t touch when he wrapped his hand around it.

Ed watched Oswald suckled at the head, working to take it as deep as he could—which wasn’t much given its girth. He did his best, lips stretched wide around it, as his hand jacked him off steadily.

There was some talking in the background, too muffled and muddled between all of the other sounds, and then this new man—Brock, Ed decided for no reason in particular—pulled Oswald up. His hands were huge and only looked bigger against Oswald’s slight build.

There was a moment of kissing, open mouth and wet and filthy, and Ed felt a moment of jealousy before it was overshadowed by pure want.

Oswald was pushed back onto the bed, the sea of strangers parting for him without a second thought. He flipped himself onto his hands and knees without prompting, crawling forward so he could mouth at another cock laid before him. Ed had stopped keeping exact track of who was who, though he had counted at least ten different men.

Someone passed Brock over a bottle of lube, who wasted no time upturning it to drizzle a long line down the crack of Oswald’s ass. The camera lingers a moment, appreciating the plush curve of Oswald’s backside and the expanse of pale skin spread before them.

The camera shifted again before zooming in to watch as Brock pressed a thick finger into Oswald. Ed couldn’t hear what noise Oswald could have made in return, but he watched as he was worked open sloppily. Lube was smeared over him, leaving shining trails even as two thick fingers pumped themselves in and out of his ass.

The camera zoomed out again, trembling, and Ed cursed whoever was unable to hold a camera straight. Brock had pulled Oswald back up onto his knees, twisting his head so they could kiss at an awkward angle.

“How you feeling, babe?” he said, and Ed watched as he trailed a large hand down to fondle at Oswald’s very hard cock. As he watched, one of the men had dropped to his own knees to lick at Oswald’s cock, swallowing him down with ease.

Oswald looked at him through half-lidded eyes, his lipstick smeared and mascara smudged around his eyes. “I’d feel even better if someone could fuck me.”

“Hell, yeah,” Brock said. “You ready for me?” He slapped his cock again Oswald’s hip, looking obscenely large against Oswald’s skin.

“Did I fucking stutter?” Oswald said with a smirk, and there was that familiar bite in him.

A laugh went around, and Oswald dropped back down to his hands and knees, giving his ass a small wiggle of impatience.

And then Ed watched as Brock took each of Oswald’s cheeks in hand, spreading him open to reveal that dark pucker, slick with lube. He pressed the head of his undeniably massive cock to the small crinkle of Oswald’s hole, and Ed held his breath as he watched the head pop through the first ring of muscles.

Oswald howled, Ed couldn’t describe it as anything else. It started as a low moan that just gained in pitch as the man slid deeper and deeper into him. His chest heaved as he took in slow, deep breaths.

“Fuck yeah,” someone said, “fuck, that’s hot.”

Ed squeezed his cock harder, watching as the immense cock pressed deeper into Oswald. He could hear the breathy gasps Oswald was making, even as Ed could see the wiggle of his hips to push back into the man.

Brock seemed to be having just as hard of a time, sweat dripping down his forehead as he paused. He still had each of Oswald’s cheeks in each hand, giving everyone a clear view of where he was connected. Someone dribbled more lube at where they were connected, and Oswald gave another breathy, half-painful moan when Brock pulled out barely an inch only to rock back in.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Brock said, tipping his head back as though in prayer. “Fuck, didn’t expect him to feel this good.”

Oswald shifted, gently fucking himself on the cock even as he started to mouth at another. The sounds he was making were still that edge of pain and pleasure, the whimpering mewl that he made when he rode that knife’s edge.

The motion made Brock, and Ed, curse. Brock pushed Oswald back to pull his impossibly long cock out of Oswald. There was a moment where Ed could see all of Oswald even in low resolution—he could see the soft red insides and the slick of lubricant and his pink cock hanging between his legs before Brock pushed back in.

Oswald’s squealed, again, at the motion before his sounds were muffled, his face pulled toward another man. A cock worked his way into his mouth, drool dripping down the edges of his lips as his mouth was fucked in fast, shallow thrusts.

The sounds that were coming out of the small speakers were filthy, even with the low thrum of static. He could hear the various grunts and moans of everyone, the high thready noise Oswald made when he was too far gone to care, mixed with the sound of flesh slapping against flesh.

Ed stroked himself in time with the thrusting, eyes focused on the impossibly wide stretch of Oswald and the red edges of his rim. The man was always beautiful, but seeing him like this—wrecked and shameless—was too much.

Brock slammed into Oswald one last time, grunting and squeezing Oswald’s waist as he came. When he pulled out, he spread Oswald’s cheeks to show the slow drip of come coming from his hole for the audience. Oswald’s hole tried to clench, gaping, even as Ed watched another man’s come leak from it.

The camera shook again as everyone shifted so someone else could take Brock’s place. Ed had only a moment to look at the long expanse of Oswald’s back, ass in the air and waiting, before another man—lean with dark brown skin and nails painted bright blue—slipped inside Oswald. He could hear the squelch as he pushed Brock’s come deeper. He could hear the rough grunting as this man plowed into Oswald’s willing body, the slip of skin against skin.

Time blurred as Ed watched stranger after stranger take Oswald. He had stopped counting how many after the fifth man came with an animalistic grunt, a waning erection covered with the remains of those before him. Sometimes the camera would shift to show Oswald’s face, lips wrapped around someone’s cock or pulled into a messy kiss. His makeup was a mess, and his hair was in disarray from all the pulling.

But he was so beautiful, mouth opened in a long moan and eyes fogged in pleasure. More than once, Ed had to squeeze his arousal tightly at the base, too close to his orgasm, but not wanting to stop.

Ed was so close to coming when someone flipped Oswald over onto his back so someone else—broad-shouldered with a full sleeve of tattoos down his left arm—could push his knees against his chest. Tattoos pinched at Oswald’s nipples that were already red and puffy before lapping at them, twisting his tongue around the abused nubs.

The noise Oswald made when he first thrust his cock in was high-pitched and surprised. It was cut off when another man—face off-screen but a sharp tan line just above his hips and an averaged sized, circumcised cock—straddled Oswald’s face, hips rocking into his mouth in short, fast thrusts.

Oswald choked momentarily before pulling off. A long globby stripe of come hit him in the face, making a line from his eyebrow to his nose, that Oswald ignored as he lapped at the softening cock as best he could as his body shook with every powerful thrust.

Ed bit knuckles, forcing himself to not touch himself as he continued to watch. His hands were clenched on his thighs. He didn’t think he had ever been so hard in his life, and he wanted to come desperately. But he didn’t want it to stop—didn’t want to miss a moment of Oswald looking so shameless and sinful.

It was almost too much to keep up with as hands pulled Oswald up. A pale man with too-long blond hair and a narrow face kissed him, as another manhandled him into his lap. Oswald slowly sank down, aided by more hands, until a short but thick cock slipped inside his sloppy hole. Oswald hadn’t come once yet, and his cock was nearly purple at the head, leaking pre-come generously.

He watched Oswald bounce steadily up and down on a stranger's cock, crouched on the balls of his feet and held steady by large hands. Ed bemoaned that that position was no longer a possibility for Oswald as he watched, listening to the wet slaps of skin to skin. Oswald’s moans were stifled by wet kisses, but Ed could see Oswald’s hard cock bounce and hit his stomach with every movement. It was indecent, watching the remnants of come slip out of Oswald’s hole and drip down his thighs.

So, he watched as Oswald was pushed forced, pressing his chest up against his partner’s as he rode him with as much energy as he could. Oswald bit at the lower lip of his partner, eyes closed as he kissed the stranger. The stranger, in term, thrust his hips upward into Oswald, jarring and out of rhythm, with calloused hands wrapped around Oswald’s waist. He worked Oswald up and down on his cock, undulating the smaller man like a toy on his cock.

And then Ed groaned into his arm when another man knelt behind him and tried to slip his cock—thick and leaking—alongside the other. There was resistant at first, all three of them slowing down, and then suddenly it was in, and the sight of it—Oswald’s wrecked hole, edges red and puffy—stretching around two cocks was—

Oswald’s face was contorted into a look of pain, and Ed would have been worried if he hadn’t known how Oswald thrived on that razor edge of pain and pleasure.

Ed finally gave in, allowing himself the tortuous drag of his fingertips along his hard cock. It was barely a minute of him fisting his cock, staring at the blur of Oswald’s face and sound of his voice, wrecked and ragged. It’s that image—Oswald covered in sweat and come and howling as he was fucked—that was imprinted on the backs of his eyelids as he came with a scream, voice dropping to a growl as he rode out his orgasm

He didn’t know how long it had taken for him to come back to himself, but when he was finally aware of what was happening around him, he could still hear the tinny moans and smacks of flesh coming from the aging speakers and could feel the unpleasant sensation of cooling come on his hands. The mix of embarrassment and shame started to steep in, and he could already feel the hot flush creep up his neck and to his face. He hurriedly turned off the television—interrupting the sight of Oswald being sandwiched between two more men.

He cleaned himself up in silence with quivering hands. He had gotten some on his pants that he tried his best to scrub away the evidence with a wet towel. When he was clean, he ejected the tape. He could still hear his heart beating in his chest, the rapid thrum that was only now starting to slow.

He turned the tape over in his hands, marveling at how innocuous it looked. He knew he should destroy it—it had damning evidence of Oswald’s past that could be used against him. But he couldn’t bring himself to crush it into bits of plastic and film—not when the memory of Oswald begging and wanton and beautiful was still burned into his brain.

Ed rewound the tape as he continued to shift through other tapes half-heartedly. When it was finished, he replaced it into its worn paper sleeve and, with some guilt, slipped it into his desk drawer, pushing it to the back.

It would be his little secret.

**Author's Note:**

> So...this is the smuttiest, filthiest thing I have ever posted publically. I hope you all enjoyed? *hides in shame* Here is the [accompanying art](https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/683933458258460707/734482781924622508/WYv2yF2K8A0.jpg) that I commissioned for it by the lovely [goluboicomsomol](https://twitter.com/golcompriton). 
> 
> If you liked this, please let me know in a comment! I don't normally post the works that are _too_ naughty out of embarrassment, but if people like it, I can maybe release a few more out for the public. <3


End file.
